Sing Me to Heaven
by Saffire
Summary: The third and final installment of the Jade Series. This story cannot be read without first reading the others.


TITLE: Sing Me to Heaven

AUTHOR: Saffire

E-MAIL: saffire415@aol.com

ARCHIVE/DISTRIBUTION: My site, ff.net, ask me first to use.

FEEDBACK: E-mail me with your juicy, yummy feedback.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: S/OC, language, Jade & Melissa's POV 

SUMMARY: The third and final installment of the Jade Series. Unlike the first two parts, this story cannot be read without first reading the others. Well, you could but you'd probably be really confused. 

Jade's nearly ninety years old, lying on her deathbed, reflecting on the events of her life.

RATING: PG for language

DISCLAIMER: I own Jade, nothing else. So all you evil lawyers just move on…

A/N: The lyrics used in this story are from Daniel Gawthrop's "Sing Me to Heaven". You can download it on Kazaa and you should. Now. Go. It's a beautiful song with beautiful words, so check it out.

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In my heart's sequestered chambers lie truths stripped of poet's gloss,

Words alone, are vain and vacant and my heart is mute.

I'm sick of it. I'm quitting today. I will. I mean it this time. I can't take another hour, another minute in this disgusting hellhole. None of it matters. Nothing I do makes a difference. This place is just sad. It's sad and it's bringing me down.

In nursing school, I'd interned in a nursing home. For some reason I decided to stick with it instead of pursuing the ER as I'd planned. Dumbest decision I ever made. It smells bad, the people- nurses and patients alike- are all crabby and pushy, and if I have to see another withered old body loaded into a black bag and carted off to the morgue for quick disposal, I'm going to heave.

"Tina, how do you stand it?" I ask, watching the older woman busily filing papers away behind the big white desk.

"Stand what?"

"This. This place. Working here with all the dying and the…death."

"I've grown accustomed I suppose," she responds thoughtfully. 

I roll my eyes. I'm asking the wrong person. Of course Saint Tina wouldn't have a problem working here. She's perfect in every way. Never rude or harsh with a patient, never late for work, always willing to cover for someone else, even does extra, unnecessary work like she's doing now- filing papers for the secretary while she's getting a manicure. 

"The people in here need us, Melissa," she says. "Either they have no family, aren't wanted by the family they do have, or their family just can't take care of them anymore. They've lived their lives and have all the wisdom to show for it. But to who? No one because they're placed in these little rooms where they sit and watch game show reruns all day. Sit down with some of them and talk once in a while. Then you'll see how I can stand it here."

I grumble under my breath. Typical saintly response. But maybe she's got a point. There's got to be one semi-sane person in this place. They can't _all_ be senile. Tina hands me a clipboard. 

"Try this one. I think you'll like her." Her smile is annoyingly secretive.

I glance at the clipboard. Oh no. Not her. I've heard of her. She's _completely_ insane. I give Tina a skeptical look but she merely gestures to the secluded little room at the end of the hall. Fine.

I make my way slowly down the hall, my white shoes squeaking against the shiny tile. I reach the room and pause hesitantly for a moment. Then the door opens with a push of my hand and I see her there, lying peacefully in her bed, propped up by pillows, her gray hair fanning out around her face. She's pale. Paler than any of the other patients. Susan told me she won't let anyone open her drapes or take her anywhere near sunlight. By the darkness of the room, I guess that's true. 

I flip on a light and one startlingly green eye opens to watch my path across the room to the chair beside her bed. When I take a seat, a warm smile spreads over her features. I shift uneasily. "Hi."

"Hey, Dawnie," she greets in her raspy voice. "Long time, no see."

A papery skinned hand clutches mine and I resist the urge to shrink away. This woman is scary. There's a mad glint in her eye that I don't know what to make of. "My name's Melissa Whalley." I glance down at the clipboard in my lap. "And you're…Jade Motley."

Confusion passes over the green eyes for a moment but then they're frighteningly clear. "You look so much like her…"

"Who?"

"Dawn."

"Is Dawn your daughter?"

She chuckles and shakes her head. "Oh no. Dawn was my friend…my best friend. Next to him of course." Him? If she's talking about God I swear… "He was a hottie. Oh yea." Guess not. "Porcelain. His skin was like porcelain. So…so smooth. But scarred. Oh yes, he had scars. Many scars. I used to trace them with my fingertips."

Long, bony fingers make tracing motions in the air and I watch, entranced by the look in the old woman's eyes. Such pain, I've never seen before. It's palpable in the room as she continues to trace the air. 

"So soft, so smooth. For hours, we'd lie together. For days. We'd never get out of bed. The sheets were soft. But not as soft as him. Oh no." She looks at me, as if just noticing my presence, and seems to come back from wherever she just was. "What did you say your name was?" she asks in clear, precise tones.

"Melissa, Ms. Motley."

"Oh for God's sake, call me Jade. I hate all these 'Ms. Motley's and 'ma'am's. I'm not a ma'am. Never have been, never will be. It's fucking ridiculous." I can't help the wide grin that spreads across my face at hearing 'fucking' from the old, withered mouth. "Well don't look so surprised. I grew up in the nineties. I was a bad girl. Oh yes. I was a slut."

I laugh. "Really?"

Her eyes dare me to challenge her claim. "Open that drawer," she commands, pointing to her bedside table. 

I obey, finding a drawer packed with old photos, cards, movie stubs, and all sorts of memoribilia from the late nineties to the early two thousands. On the top of the pile is a picture of a girl. She's scowling, with one eyebrow raised. Her long blonde hair is up in pins and curls and her face is hidden under pounds of make-up. And her clothes- what a total slut. Fish nets, knee high leather boots, a leather coat, a mini, and a red halter top. 

Her green eyes stare at the camera mockingly and something about them strikes me as familiar. No way. I look up at the shriveled woman before me and back down at the picture. "Holy shit."

Jade's laugh is raspy. "Told you."

"This can't be you."

"Oh, but it is. Wasn't I hot?" She laughs wryly as my eyes continue to dart back and forth between her and the picture in my hand. "I'm sixteen there."

"Really? You look older."

"Well, I was forced to grow up fast." At my prodding look she elaborates. "I was an orphan and I moved around a lot. You know, the typical after-school special troubled teen, shuffling from relative to relative thing, then on to the foster homes."

"Sounds rough."

"It was. And I didn't handle it well. By the time that picture was taken I'd already slept with more men then most women do in their life time and half of it I couldn't even remember because I was plastered the whole time." Jade sighs and stares at the wall. "I'd be dead by now if it wasn't for him."

"Him?" I prompted.

She smiled. "Sit back, kid. I've got a story to tell you."

***

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In response to aching silence, memory summons, half-heard voices,

And my soul finds primal eloquence and wraps me in song,

Wraps me in song.

She's sitting on the edge of her seat, watching me intently, hanging on my every word. It's nice to have company.

"…and he said, 'Wanna go again?'," I finish.

The nurse that looks so much like Dawn doesn't move. She watches me expectantly until she realizes that was the end of my tale. "So? What happened after that?"

I grin. "What do you think?"

She supresses a grin. "I mean after you two had more wild, crazy sex. I mean, he was a vampire…what happened to him?" 

Suddenly I'm very tired. The memories start to flood back to me. I don't want to talk about this anymore. I'm too tired. It's been a long day. I need my rest. "Open the drawer, Dawn," I say softly. She opens the drawer again. "Look at the bottom, under everything else."

Her hands carefully sift through the piles of old pictures, finally uncovering the leatherbound book. "Take it." Dawn looks at me uncertainly. "Go on. Take it. It'll tell you everything you want to know. I'm tired. I'm going to rest now."

Dawn rises from her chair, clutching the book to her chest, and exits with a soft "goodbye". I lie in bed and try to get to sleep. But then he's there.

"I'm scared. Please don't leave me," I beg him.

"I have to go. You're safe here. I love you," Spike says.

"Don't fucking say it like that. Don't say it like a 'goodbye'. Fuck you."

His eyes- so blue- look hurt. He looks up, listening. "Be right there, slayer!" he calls irritatedly. Spike looks back at me. "I've got to go."

"Stay with me. Let them save the world without you. That's their job- not yours. Stay with me." He merely turns away. No. Don't leave me. "Spike!" He turns and looks at me. "I love you."

***

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If you would comfort me, sing me a lullaby,

If you would win my heart, sing me a love song,

If you would mourn me, and bring me to God,

Sing me a requiem.

Sing me to heaven.

I listen through the door as the old woman talks to the empty room. Senile old woman. Yet a very interesting senile old woman. I glance down at the book cradled in my arms. It's large and heavy and I can't wait to sit down and read it. Purposefully, I head down the hall.

I breeze past Tina at the secretary's desk. "I'm taking a break. Cover for me."

The tiny courtyard is empty of patients and nurses. It's warm but the stone bench I perch on is cool against my bare legs. I sit down with the book in my lap and open to the first page.

****

Dear Diary,

It has begun. The big evil to end all big evils. Or at least for this year. I'm scared. Nothing's ever been as big and bad as this. Or at least I don't think it has. I'm just judging by Spike's reaction to it.

He's been away from home a lot. Patrolling or at the Magic Box with the Scoobies. I'm not a Scooby. When he comes home he barely talks. He'll just slide into bed behind me and bury his face in my hair. I don't ask him what's wrong. I don't think I want to know.

It's not my job. The slayer takes care of the apocalypsey stuff. I don't bother with it and it always works out in the end. At least, it has for the last eight years- since I moved to Sunnyhell.

But today the sky turned red. Blood red. I was in the kitchen, contemplating washing the dishes when Spike burst into the apartment. He told me we had to go.

"Go where?" I asked.

"Someplace where you'll be safe."

He grabbed my hand and led me down into the basement of our building. I didn't have to do the dishes after all. 

"What's going on?" I asked him. He wouldn't answer me.

"Just stay here."

"No! Tell me what's happening!"

"I can't. No time."

The ground started to shake then. All the storage shelves crashed to the floor around us. Spike threw himself over me until the shaking stopped. Then the screams started. I could hear mad rushing on the street above and the sounds of panicked people.

"Spike!" It was Buffy, calling from upstairs.

"I'm coming!" he called.

"I'm scared. Please don't leave me," I begged him.

"I have to go. You're safe here. I love you," he said.

"Don't fucking say it like that. Don't say it like a 'goodbye'. Fuck you." I was angry. He looked at me with that damned puppy-dog face. He looks up, listening. 

"Spike!"

"Be right there, slayer!" he shouted back. He looked at me. "I've got to go."

"Stay with me. Let them save the world without you. That's their job- not yours. Stay with me." He walked towards the stairs. "Spike!" He looked back at me. "I love you."

He smiled. And he left. And now I'm alone with nothing but this old diary I found in my storage box to keep me company. I'm scared. I'm scared for Spike and for myself. There're earthquakes every few minutes now. And then the screams start again. Shit…here comes another one.

The writing stops on this page. But I know how this ends. Good triumphs over evil. Everyone knows that. I learned it in history class in high school. This is Judgement Day. The day that the slayer and all the forces of good finally defeated evil. There's a fucking statue in the square of her now. The slayer. What was her name? Buffy. Right. It's built over what used to be the high school a long time ago. Weird place for a statue. But in all the history books, there's nothing about a vampire named Spike.

I flip to the next and prepare myself. My palms are sweaty. Deep inside I know what happens, why there's no statue of Spike. I begin to read.

***

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Touch in me, all love and passion, pain and pleasure,

Touch in me, grief and comfort, love and passion, pain and pleasure.

"Hello, Jade."

"Hello, Buffy."

"Are you ready?"

"I am."

"You've had a long journey."

"Too long. I want to be with him."

"I know. You will be. Soon." 

***

Sing me a lullaby, a love song, a requiem.

Love me.

Comfort me.

****

Dear Diary,

The sun is out. The sky is blue again. But I don't want to go out in it. They said it was quick. They said he didn't feel anything. They lied. I know. Because I felt it. I felt him.

They found me in the basement. I was unconscious. They said the earthquakes made some of the ceiling cave in and it fell on me. I don't want to listen to what they say anymore.

I don't know these people. I was never part of them. There're only three left. The three that I would've bet would be the ones to kick the bucket first. Xander. Anya. Giles. The rest are dead. Buffy's dead. Willow's dead. Dawn's dead. 

Spike's dead.

The sun is out. But I won't go in it. Never. Never. Never. 

I slam the book shut. I don't want to read anymore. The scrawl on the paper is barely legible and the page is crinkled with water damage. Tears.

***

__

Bring me to God.

Sing me a love song.

Sing me to heaven.

"Hey, pet."

I smile. He's really here. His hand takes mine. It's soft. So soft. And so's mine. My papery, withered and wrinkled skin is smooth. I smile. "I missed you."

"I've always been there."

"I know. I felt you. You…you helped me live. When I wanted to quit…you were there."

He nods. "But you can rest now, love."

"Can I be with you?"

"Forever now. We have forever." His lips brush mine.

I close my eyes.

***

I clutch the book to my chest as I watch them roll the gurney out of the room. The wheels clank as they roll down the hall, carrying the big black bag. Silently I slip into the dark room.

The drawer's open. I sift through it and find a picture. Jade, young and beautiful, vibrant. Nothing like the picture of her sixteen year old self. She's wrapped in the embrace of a handsome man with pale skin and bright blue eyes and they're kissing. I smile and place the picture in the pages of the book. Slowly, I walk to the door and pause only a moment.

Goodbye Jade. 

THE END.


End file.
